Cochlea in Diem
by whitchry9
Summary: Part 14 of the Carpe Diem series, featuring university Sherlock. (Not entirely pleased with it.) 2 parts.
1. Chapter 1

AN- So Cambridge probably doesn't have what I described, especially when Sherlock would have been going to school, but we are going to pretend. I have something like this at my school, and that's more of what it's based on. Historical accuracy what?

* * *

Sherlock's leg bounced as the professor began talking about evolution. He ignored it, knowing the tremors that sometimes came with sleep deprivation and far too much caffeine intake.

There hadn't been an aura, so he wasn't overly concerned. Besides, he'd taken his meds that morning like a good epileptic, since he wasn't overly fond of the whole seizing thing, despite how many people thought he did it for attention, or because he was bored.

Obviously they'd never had a seizure, because they wouldn't be saying that.

_Perhaps he could induce them in others_... he mused. He shook his head. Best not to think like that. The last stunt he pulled was bad enough.

He sighed loudly. He didn't know why he bothered to show up to classes. Evolution and Behaviour was of interest to him, but he'd learned this back when he was eleven, so going over it again now was of no use.

He glanced around, wondering if it was even worth leaving.

Sherlock sighed again, and flipped through his notebook, which he should have been taking notes in.

Instead, it was filled with deductions so he could check on them later, codes he'd invented, chemistry formulas, ideas for experiments, and bits of melodies that always seemed to come when he didn't have his violin in hand.

His leg was still twitching. Perhaps he needed to slow down on the caffeine. He didn't think he'd had enough in the past day or so to be causing this. Coffee at breakfast... oh, but he had stayed up the entire night, and a pot of tea had gone missing... Perhaps he drank it without consciously realizing it. That had happened before, especially when he was involved with experiments, like he was last night. He'd caught two fat honeybees from the garden that evening, and the rest of the night was spent observing them and taking notes. He released them this morning back into the garden, and they buzzed along, no worse for wear.

That was far more interesting than... what was going on? Evolution?

Sherlock tuned back in. He tried to focus on what the professor was saying. One moment there was talk of Hardy Weinberg equilibrium, then the next...

* * *

Sherlock awoke (mostly) to find people standing over him. There was something soft under his head, which was somewhat nice. Not everyone was entirely stupid. But they certainly were annoying him.

"Fk'off" he muttered, waving them away.

They didn't seem to take his complaint to heart, or maybe they didn't understand.

He tried again.

"Fuck. Off," he growled.

A boy stood directly over him, purposely in his line of sight. "Mate, you had a seizure. Please just-"

"Of course I had a seizure. I'm fucking epileptic!" he spat, attempting to shove arms off him, away from him.

They stepped back slightly.

He blinked at them, his vision clearing. They were some sort of paramedics or first responders. He couldn't be bothered to deduce which. Crosses on the shirt, but the printing was too small to make out at the moment.

"Just leave me alone," he muttered, attempting to roll onto his side away from them. It required a lot more effort than he expected, and he didn't make it all the way. Instead he got stuck looking towards the front of the room. The giant lecture hall that had just been full of students was now cleared.

_Fuck._

Sherlock groaned.

"Can you tell me your name?" the girl asked, kneeling next to him and feeling his wrist for a pulse.

He sighed. There really was no getting out of this one. "Sherlock," he sighed again.

"Okay," she said, nodding and making a note. "We're trained in first aid. Can we help you?"

"I don't need help," he bit out.

"You had a seizure mate," the boy said from above him. "Let us check you over." He turned to the professor next to him. "Have you called an ambulance?"

"I don't need a bloody ambulance," Sherlock growled as the professor shook his head. "You can't call an ambulance."

He could feel the boy studying him. "Let us take a look at you, and we won't call one right now," he countered.

Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed. "Whatever."

Apparently they took that to mean consent, because the girl pulled out a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it around his arm.

Sherlock opened one eye to glare at her. "I don't see why that's necessary," he growled.

"I'm just checking your vitals," she replied. "You'll feel some pressure."

"I know how it works," he said. "I'm not stupid."

The boy began his interrogation. "You said that you were epileptic. How often do you have seizures?"

Sherlock waved the hand that wasn't on the end of the arm being compressed. "Once a week, sometimes twice. Sometimes less."

"Allergies?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Medications?"

"Anticonvulsants."

"Did you take them this morning?"

"Yes," Sherlock said irritably. "I have seizures even with the medication. But without it, I had up to ten a day. I'm fine. Really. This is normal for me, even if it's hard for your small minds to grasp."

The boy frowned at him, but the girl didn't seem fazed. She continued compressing his arm.

"Sherlock, you should go to the hospital," he said.

"I don't need to go to the hospital," he growled. "I just need to sleep and I'll be fine."

They exchanged a wary glance.

He sighed, suddenly feeling overly exhausted, and not wanting to explain it to them.

"This happens about once a week. Usually, I can tell it's coming, I have it on my bed, or hidden away somewhere, and sleep for a while. I'll be fine," he repeated wearily.

"Why didn't you do that this time?"

Sherlock sighed. "I missed the partial seizure. I thought it was just caffeine jitters. Now, can I sleep?"

"Here?" the girl asked skeptically.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course here. No, I want to go back to my dorm and sleep."

The girl finished taking Sherlock's vitals and stood up, talking to the boy quietly.

There was some discussion between them, then the boy stepped forward.

"Where's your dorm?"

"King's College," Sherlock muttered. "Bodley's. It's a seven minute walk from here."

The girl glanced at the boy, hissing something at him about not being able to make it that far.

"I can hear you," Sherlock murmured. If they were going to talk about him, they should at least do it more quietly.

They lowered their voices and continued to discuss him. Sherlock closed his eyes, just wanting to sleep. At the moment he didn't really care where it was, even though he knew he should.

The girl came back into his line of sight. "We would prefer if someone could check on you. Do you have a roommate?"

"No," Sherlock said shortly.

The boy spoke next. "Do you have a friend who could come around in a little while-"

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted, mostly to get him to shut up.

The girl looked dubious, but what were they going to do? Claim that he didn't have any friends and drag him somewhere against his will?

No, they'd have to leave him be. He was an adult.

"Can we help you to your room?"

Sherlock wanted to refuse, but knew he would never make it otherwise.

"Fine," he growled, hating that it had come to this.

The girl gathered up Sherlock's things as the boy helped him to his feet.

They probably had names, Sherlock realized. No, of _course_ they had names, but he'd probably forgotten. Or deleted them.

He sorted through the recycle bin.

Ah, there they were. The girl was Grace and the boy was Karl. Never trust a brain to do anything before, during, or after a seizure. Some of the times in between were also iffy.

The boy, Karl, helped Sherlock to his feet, which were more than a little unsteady, which he loathed to admit.

He shouldered his first aid kit and Grace went to his other side, supporting him at the elbow.

They made their way down the few steps to the door, the professor nodding at Sherlock as he hobbled by.

How embarrassing.

Screw epilepsy and his fucked up brain. Screw the people who saw him have a seizure. Screw the kind strangers who were helping him back to his dorm. Screw everything.

Sherlock had to admit, he was feeling a bit miserable.

They'd only made it about twenty feet before fireworks lit up in front of his eyes.

He bit back a groan. Seriously? Two in one day? What the hell. And there was no way he'd make it back to his room in time. Screw everything indeed.

"Shit," he muttered.

"What is it?" Grace asked, stopping.

"I'm going to have another seizure. Soon."

Grace glanced around as the flashing lights began to fade from Sherlock's vision.

"There's an office right there," she pointed out, leading Sherlock in that direction. Karl followed.

A simple motor seizure started as Grace opened the door, his leg twitching again. Huh. That was new. Something to look in to, definitely. Usually it went simple sensory (aura), usually to complex partial, usually to tonic clonic. Mixing it up a bit.

He didn't like that.

Karl helped him to the floor. "We should really call an ambulance now-" he began, before Sherlock cut him off.

"Don't call a fucking ambulance unless it's more than five minutes," he growled, before he lost the use of his vocal cords.

"Alright," Grace said. "I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up to find an oxygen mask on his face, which he ripped off as soon as he could remember how to coordinate his arms.

He glared at the girl. What was her name?

Grace.

She only stared back at him. "Standard procedure," she told him. "Although I take it you're not one for doing things the standard way."

"No," Sherlock sighed.

She nodded, and Karl wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"How long?" he asked, eyeing Karl warily.

"Just under four minutes," she told him. "We didn't call an ambulance."

"S'good," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes.

"We did call a cab though," she told him.

He opened one eye to glare at her. "What for?"

"You're not going to be able to make it back to your dorm on foot," she explained patiently. "Especially now." She gestured to him lying on the floor, probably looking as much like gelatin as he felt.

"Mm," he hummed.

"Let us know when you're ready to get up," Karl told him.

How about never?

Sherlock gave himself a few minutes for his head to clear, then sat up carefully as the dizzying sensation passed. No doubt his blood pressure was low as well, like usual, and getting up too fast would only cause him to pass out.

When he nodded at Karl, the boy pulled him to his feet. He had his backpack on again, which made Sherlock wonder what else he had hidden away in there. Grace had once again gathered up Sherlock's belongings and had shouldered her bag, which was smaller, but still suspiciously large.

He couldn't care enough to ask.

They made their way out to the street, where a cab was waiting for them. All three piled in for the short ride that was literally around the corner.

Sherlock felt ridiculous about it.

His eyes closed on the journey, but popped open as they arrived and he realized something.

"I don't have any money," he muttered.

"S'alright," Grace told him, handing a bill to the driver. She got out first and helped Sherlock to his feet, which were slightly steadier than before.

They made their way to his room, the three of them. Thankfully it was on the ground floor, since Sherlock wasn't sure he could manage stairs, and frankly, didn't want to try.

Grace unlocked the door and deposited Sherlock's belongings on his desk, which was thankfully free of dead things or dangerous chemicals.

Karl all but poured him into the bed. Sherlock ended up with the pillow mashed into his face, not bothered enough to fix it. He left the room, nodding at Sherlock and muttering something about feeling better.

Grace stood there and looked at him. He could feel it.

"Will you lay on your side in the recovery position, please," she asked.

Sherlock hummed.

"I'm going to move you into it then," she informed him.

He didn't protest as she manipulated limbs, leaving him laying on his side.

"Let yourself out," he muttered.

That she did.

Before drifting off to sleep, Sherlock wondered if she liked chemistry.

* * *

**AN- Cochlea in Diem means screw the day, but it's debatable whether that would be the proper usage, considering it can also mean snail, or what I gathered was something curvy. It's rather colloquial, but I do what I want. Right? Yeah.**


End file.
